What Might Have Been
by Kamiki77
Summary: While on the run from SHIELD, The Winter Soldier focuses on destroying the last of the HYDRA outposts. However, his final mission in DC goes wrong, and Bucky find himself in an alternate reality where there is no Captain America.
1. It Begins

Three years. For three long years, James Buchanan Barnes had been obsessively on the move, fueled by his hatred and little more. His memories, at first, had begun to trickle back to him when he visited the Smithsonian and stared at his own face reflected back to him. A hero. A brother. A friend. A good man. All of the things that Hydra had robbed him of, corrupting him and turning him into a tool for their own devices. He had entered the museum adrift and purposeless, confused and more than a little frightened to face his past. He left with a purpose and a set jaw. He was going to turn the weapon they had made him into back on them. He would make them pay.

For three years, The Winter Soldier buried his hurt in his anger. And even as the memories began to flood back as his mind healed, he refused to allow himself to stop, to feel. Not until the mission was complete. He wasn't allowed to rest until he had put every man responsible for condition into the ground. He drew upon those resurfacing memories: Hydra bases, maps, and names. He used the talents of reconnaissance and stealth, how to acquire the materials he required and safe houses and weapon caches. He ate only what he needed to keep going: long forgotten MREs left behind in flop houses, or food from gas stations and convenience stores: sometimes stolen and sometimes bough with cash he found in the caches. He slept rarely, and only when exhaustion reduced his functionality. And one by one, he began to eliminate his targets.

He never paused for very long. He knew he was being followed. And as much as a part of him wanted to stop; to go back to _him: _the man on the bridge... Captain America... _Steve_... he didn't feel like he could let it go or face him until he had cleared the red out of his ledger. He was ashamed of the _thing_ he had become. He had to reclaim that before he could look him in the eye again.

He was almost done. One more facility remained on his hit list. He didn't delude himself that there probably weren't more out there, but this was the last one he could recall. The last one that he _knew_ had ties to the Winter Soldier project, and he knew that they had been working on some of Hydra's more experimental technology. It also brought his mission full circle: back to the US and DC itself. It was dangerous, returning to the city where he was a well-known person of interest, and that's why he had left this one for last.

The facility was deceptively small on the outside, easily overshadowed by Hydra's more notable facilities in the area that had gone down during Project Insight. But that didn't mean that it didn't have its share of defenses - not that it mattered. The Winter Soldier made quick work of the security with practiced ease. And like many of the other facilities, it was nearly over twenty minutes after he set foot in the laboratory's doors. He had rigged the facility to blow, and was on his way out, the first of the detonations already going off deep within the bowels of the building. He had expected that - he had plenty of time to make it out by the time the peripheral bombs would fire... but that's when an odd shock wave caught him, lifting him off his feet. A brilliant blue light filled his vision before everything went black...

When The Soldier awoke, he was in a general warehouse; exactly where he expected to be. But it was empty; uncharred and seemed otherwise wholly insignificant. There was no security save a few padlocks, and no evidence of any Hydra activity.

He was on his feet in an instant, firearm in each hand, even with his head pounding and his ears still ringing from the explosion. Already, he was mentally chiding himself for his guard having been down for... he glanced at his watch... just a few minutes had passed? His brow furrowed. He had to have been moved. And yet, there was no one around, no evidence that this warehouse had been disturbed. His eyes tracked the layers of dust that clung to the empty interior, the layers of grime over the windows. And the soldier couldn't deny the similarity in layout to the Hydra facility he had been in moments before. He had studied the blueprints, and the surrounding buildings. It didn't make sense.

His mouth tightened to a straight line as he trotted silently to the side door, peering out through a window. He braced himself for a few moments, waiting, expecting his movement to have triggered some kind of attention, and letting the ringing in his ears subside and the pounding behind his eyes to ease. The night sky and an empty lot greeted him. Even straining to listen with his enhanced hearing yielded no sounds other than distant traffic. He unbolted the door and slid outside, ducking into a shadow of a disused dumpster, scanning. Still. Nothing. And yet - the neighborhood was virtually identical - the same surrounding buildings, the same street signs. He holstered his weapons and skirted around the building to where he had left the backpack that contained civvy clothes, extra food, and his other emergency supplies: everything that the Winter Soldier owned, packed up for easy transport. But there was nothing there. It was gone. He swore under his breath and tore the mask off of his face, looping it over his belt.

He wasn't used to this - being unprepared, caught off-guard. He had had a definite plan of action after he had taken down this facility - rest, and then... finally... let Steve find him and face charges. But he couldn't shake the feeling that something was _really_ off. He leapt the fence, landing deftly on his feet and ran silently for a few blocks, sticking to unlit areas as the gears in his head began to turn.

Step one: procure new clothing. Simple enough. That late at night and in a bad area of DC, it was not difficult to find communities of homeless men. A few crumpled bills was enough to bribe for a hat and a jacket.

Step two: Steve's apartment. The soldier didn't need rest - not yet. Something was off, and he wasn't going to wait around to find out what. Last he checked, Steve had still at least maintained the decent apartment near downtown DC, despite the security breach two years ago. The soldier had the sneaking suspicion that he wanted to make himself available to be found.

A few hours later, the soldier was on the fire escape, quietly making his way down to the window he knew led into the apartment.

The window was easy enough to shimmy open, but the Soldier immediate knew something was wrong. Nothing in the apartment was the same; different furniture, different wall colors, different accouterments. On the wall, where previously two Harley Davidson Motorcycle prints were framed instead housed two signed posters from _Wicked_ and _Jersey Boys_. The palette in the apartment was feminine and soft... nothing like it has been last time he had seen it.

The soldier hesitated for only a few moments. Wrong. Was the intelligence he had done faulty? No, he doubted it. From everything he knew... _everything he remembered about Steve_... he wouldn't have wanted to make it difficult to be found. That curling feeling in his stomach that there was something truly off grew heavier.

He made his way quickly down the fire escape, dropping the last story down to the ground instead of loudly dropping the rusted metal ladder.

He strode through the alley, running a hand through his long, tangled hair absently as he forced himself to think. The sun would be rising soon. He could find a cheap motel, but then what? He needed a direction. Needed a lead. If Rogers wasn't at that apartment, he'd need to figure out _where_. He was just turning, planning on locating a place with internet connection that he could borrow to begin his search when he stopped dead in his tracks. A news stand was just opening up on the corner, racks of magazines and newspapers being revealed as the older, portly man smoking a cigarette lifted up the panels. And there, front and center of the New York Times was Steve, wearing a perfectly tailored suit and a winning smile.  
>The headline read <em>President Rogers Calls for Raise of Minimum Wage.<br>_That squirmy feeling in the soldier's stomach solidified into a ten pound weight. "Fuck."

"Hey, you just gonna stare or you gonna buy a paper?" The vendor prodded with a gruff note of irritation.

The soldier leveled a glare at the man until he fell back a pace. Then, without taking his eyes off of him, pushed a dollar and some change at him and snagged the paper, taking it with him around the corner to read.

It seemed impossible. No, it _was_ impossible. And yet there it was no mistaking that face. His eyes roamed over the date, panicked at first that somehow, _somehow_ he had lost more time. That he had been out not for a few minutes but that Hydra agents had slipped his notice and apprehend him, leaving him in stasis for _years_ and a few minutes. But no, the newspaper was dated just as he would have expected, April 17, 2017.

So, the soldier searched the article itself for some kind of explanation. Reading, he was able to piece together some vital information: _President_ Steve Rogers had been elected in 2016, the youngest president in history, and here, just a few months into his first term was pushing for big reform in minimum wage. He shook his head. _How_? There was no way _Steve Rogers_ running for president would have escaped the soldier's notice. He wracked his brain for some kind of explanation, but the only thing he could come up with sounded something like the pulp science fiction dimestore novels he had read as a kid more so than anything realistic. But then... was that really so beyond the scope of the sci fi horror story that his life had become?

He dropped to a rough seated position, his back resting against the brick and mortar wall as his mind reeled. Could this really be some... weird, alternate time line? What in the fuck had Hydra been working on in that lab? Maybe it was a _really_ good thing he destroyed it when he did, but... how in the hell was he supposed to get back home? He looked back down at the paper, his chest feeling tight as he looked at Steve's smiling face looking out at him. It felt like a punch to the gut just how much he missed him. How long he had been running from him...

The soldier's training kicked in. There was only one real recourse at the moment. He had no contacts, no resources other than the little money and items he carried on his person. His _only_ connection - and a tentative and dangerous one at that - was the man in the paper with his friend's name and face. Would he know him? Would he _believe_ him? How was he even supposed to get close to him? He was the president for God's sake.

Resolutely, he stood up and began to move. If anyone could get past White House security, it was the Winter Soldier. This was precisely the sort of mission he had been trained for. At least now he had an address.


	2. A Ghost

It was Steve Roger's favorite time of day; late, when the secret services had checked every window and door and given him the all clear. Sure, they would still be around if something were to happen, but for the most part Steve was able to feel like a normal human being for a few hours. Secure in the residence wing of the White House, Steve and his son cuddled on the couch with after dinner snacks and spent the evening watching TV. James Rogers was laying across his father's lap while he perused some files, using his ten year old as an impromptu, wiggling, giggling desk. Their dog, a purebred Golden Retriever named DaVinci was nearby, laying on the couch despite multiple attempts to train him not to; it's always awkward to meet heads of state with dog hair all over your clothes.

But still, it was when Steve felt the most like himself and the most content. He had gotten into politics because he knew that's where the real influence was; he could do vastly more good as a politician with a pen than a soldier with a gun; but the water here was full of sharks and it was often he yearned for the more cut-and-dry simple life of following orders.

Still, by the time _The Late Show with Seth Myers_ was coming on, James had long since fallen asleep and Steve found himself needing his rest as well. He scooped up his son, who protested that he wasn't tired even though he could barely keep his eyes open, and tucked him into bed. DaVinci happily curled at his son's feet before Steve made his way to his own Presidential bedroom, unbuttoning his dress shirt as he did.

The Winter Soldier had done his research. He had spent days watching, observing, using the tools of the trade secured about his person to penetrate the defenses and figure out optimal times and guard shifts. This was the utmost level of security, and these were not his enemies. He had no desire to hurt any of the secret service - and even if his hand were to be forced, it could bring dire consequences later since he was ultimately looking for an appeal of aide. And then, when he was finally confident and prepared, he executed his plan like a well-orchestrated dance. Perfect timing, evading and disarming alarms, skirting cameras, and slipping notice like a ghost.

The moment President Rogers stepped into his bedroom, his years in the military signaled to him that something was amiss. The light switch was unresponsive. The curtains were drawn and the room was shrouded in darkness. It was dead silent, and yet he _knew_ that there was someone else in the room.

He paused as soon as he flicked the light switch and nothing happened. His stance was immediately at the ready; all the training he had ever had coming to him instincitvely as he put his back towards the wall and his hands up. He could cry out for help, the service was never too far away, but he wanted to assess the situation first; no need to scare his son if he could avoid it. "Whatever you want, this isn't the way to go about it," he said, trying to keep his voice even. "Let us talk about it, and we'll see what we can do."

That voice was unmistakable, and for a moment, the soldier was surprised at himself as his own voice caught in his throat. Muscling past it, reigning control of this situation before Ste- _the president_ - called for help, he spoke up. His voice was low and ragged, disused, but carried clearly through the room. "I _am_ here to talk."

"Good," he said, slowly raising his hands up higher; signaling he was unarmed. "Let me help you," he said, his voice even and calm. "What do you want?"

His eyes scanned the room, looking for the figure. "Please, I'd prefer to speak to you face to face."

The soldier studied the silhouette for a moment, his eyes already adjusted well to the darkness. It was him. Not just a remarkable lookalike with a coincidental name. He wasn't sure if that made things better or worse, but it least it reinforced his decision to come here despite the risk.

There was a brief rustle of fabric and deceptively light footsteps as he moved a few paces to manually switch on a small lamp that sat on the bedside table.

The intruder wore heavy military grade boots and pants, utility belts with obvious bulges and even a blatantly holstered gun on one hip, knife on another. A poorly fitted jacket left no secret that there were more weapons underneath, although none of them were in the man's hands at the moment. Shaggy brown hair that nearly reached his shoulders obscured his face for just a moment before he turned his face from the lamp to meet the president's eyes. And that face... despite a few days worth of stubble and deep circles under his eyes, that face was unmistakable.

"I need your help." His voice cracked.

Steve felt a cold sweat beading over his face as he watched the man; he was heavily armed and obviously _very_ talented if he was able to break into the goddamned White House without detection. He could be dead in an instant, and the thought of his son losing the only parent he had left made the president feel nauseous.

But the light hit the man's face, and Steve's jaw dropped. He immediately dropped his battle stance and squinted his eyes - surely he was seeing things. But no... he could never forget _that_ face. "Bucky?"

Relief visibly flashed across the soldier's features. "You know me." He breathed. The conversation, Steve's expression was so painfully familiar.

He didn't approach and kept his gloved hands a good distance from his sides and his weapons as his brows drew together earnestly. "How... _how_ do you know me?"

"You... you don't know _me_?" he asked, sounding more hurt than he even meant to. "You're James Buchanan Barnes, aren't you?" He shook his head, taking a tentative step towards him. "How... I mean, Bucky... I thought, they told me... I _saw_ you... you were dead!"

The soldier nodded, swallowing down a knot in his throat. It did feel so good to see him again, to hear him call him 'Bucky'. "Y... yes. I... Steve." He stopped himself, trying to reign in some of the raw emotion from his own voice. It had been so long, so long since he let himself just _feel_. Remember. Putting it off until he was through with his mission. This might not be _his_ Steve, but it was still _him_. _Right there_.

He didn't backpedal or try to stop him from approaching, just kept his hands away from his sides and attempting to look as non-threatening as possible while armed to the teeth.

"I'm not supposed to be here..." He tried to begin. He had focused on planning _how_ to get in, past security. Not what he was going to say once he was there.

"Bucky... you're alive?" Steve couldn't get past that part. The emotion was raw on his face, his eyes blinking back tears and his throat swelling. He let himself get a good look over him, taking in his haggard appearance and long hair. "What happened to you?" he asked. It looked as if he wanted to say more, even approach him, but his eyes lingers on his weapons. "How did you get in here?"

He whet his lips, mind shuffling through what he could say, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from Steve. He _knew_ how crazy his theory sounded, but he couldn't think of any other explanation. The fact that even this Steve knew him, and obviously had some connection to him, was the only thing granting him this time. But still, he could't lead with that. Instead, he chose to answer his questions.

"At precisely twenty-one hundred fifty seven hours, I was able to infiltrate the east quadrant..." He began, but then stopped himself, whet his lips and started again, pulling his mind out of mission mode. "I timed the shifts, evaded detection and cameras. I... I am by myself." He cut to the meat of what he knew Steve wanted to know. "A... a lot has happened to me. _I_ am alive. But..." a wince pulled at a mouth that used to be so expressive, "This place... you... it's all wrong. I _know_ you, Steve. I've known you since I was a kid... but this isn't you..."

"Of course we grew up together," Steve said, shaking his head in disbelief. "You... you were hit by an IED during the convey outside of Nukhayb... we lost seven men. I saw.. " he shook his head, the memory seared into his mind. "I held you in my arms, Bucky, you were gone... I _know_ you were gone... how is this possible?"

That just seemed to confirm his suspicions. His wince spread to the rest of his face as he looked down at Steve's shoes. A different time, a different place, but it seemed like even here fate had backhanded him. Only here, he didn't survive thanks to some mad scientist's experimentation. And yet, still childhood friends... still brothers in arms in the war. A lonely, nearly forgotten part of Bucky wondered if here, too, there had been more than friendship. But... now wasn't the time for that.

He steeled his resolve and met Steve's eyes again. He couldn't dance around this, this is why he was here. "I know that this is going to sound insane..." He prefaced, biting his lip for a moment before continuing - an old habit, "...but for me, you weren't president... you were a war hero... hell, just a _hero_. We fought together, but not in Iraq. I fell from a train down a ravine and was assumed dead..."

"Bucky..." He ran his fingers through his hair, shaking his head. "I don't understand. I _saw_ your body but ...but you're here. You know me, but what other war? What are you _talking_ about?"

Bucky pressed his lips tightly, huffing in frustration before mirroring Steve's exasperated hand through his hair. "I... I don't think I'm _from_ here. I... there was an explosion in a laboratory... something experimental - I think it sent me here." Bucky wasn't going to bring up just yet that he was the one who blew up the laboratory. Or that the war was the Second World War.

"That's crazy," Steve said, though he sounded less convinced than his words would convey. "What do you mean you're not _from here_." He shook his head, his mind racing. Clone? Some kind of experimental procedure? But what was this ravine he was talking about it - it didn't add up. Goddammit he was the _president_ - shouldn't he know about all this top level classified stuff?

That was it. First thing tomorrow he was asking about Area 51.

"I _know_." The soldier exasperated. "I warned you it would sound crazy." He shifted from foot to foot. He had hardly slept since his arrival. And before then, only as much sleep as he needed before he got on the road. But now his nerves were begining to fray and he was begining to _feel_ as ragged as he looked.

"But... and I'm no scientist, Steve... the best I can guess is that this is..." He winced again, but this time it was self-conscious, as if he regretted the words before he said them, "some alternate world. It makes _no _ sense - I know it, and yet it's the only thing that does." He shrugged helplessly.

"Alternate world?" he asked incredulously. "No, that's impossible, Bucky!" But even as he said it, here he was, looking deep into the eyes of his long lost best friend. No explanations that might explain the situation were supposed to be real. He paced in front of the door, hugging his arms to himself. "This is crazy, but... but you're here."

"I know, Steve-"

"Dad, who are you talking to?"

Bucky's head snapped to the door, his hand reflexively drawn to his sidearm at the hint of noise and the presence of another. But as soon as he saw the small body and the child's voice reached his ears, he jerked his hand away, mentally chastising himself.

Steve spun around on his heels, looking at a brown haired boy who was peeking into the room. "James!" he exclaimed, rushing over. "James, what are you doing out of bed?"

As he heard the boy's name, Bucky felt an ache in his chest. "James...?" He echoed, eyes hooded and a ghost of a bittersweet smile on his face. He didn't have to ask who the child's namesake was.

He went to take a step towards the two, but stopped himself, not feeling welcome; too used to being perceived as only a threat.

"James, this is one of Dad's friends, Bucky," Steve said, keeping a hand on the boy's shoulder but walking him into the room. "He surprised me with an impromptu visit." Steve's eyes darted to Bucky's heavy artillery and he frowned.

"He looks like a hobo," the young man said under his breath, what he thought was just loud enough for his dad to hear. Steve squeezed his shoulder sharply.

"I'm not a hobo," Bucky muttered quietly in half-protest. Although, to be honest, it might not have been too far from the truth. He didn't have a home, and hell, the jacket he was wearing he'd bought off of one. He probably didn't smell much better than one.

"Bucky, this is my son, James."

Bucky nodded to James, his face relaxing to a sad half-smile. "It is nice to meet you, James." he said honestly. He looked so much like Steve. Those blue eyes, the high cheekbones. His hair was darker, but it was like looking back in time.

He had to wonder, though... "Who is his mother...?" His eyes lifted up to Steve's in askance.

"Why do you have so many guns?" he asked, staying close to his father. He got an odd expression when he asked about his mother, looking up to his dad. "She died when I just a baby," he said ahead of Steve, looking a bit frustrated that he didn't know.

Bucky's fingers twitched uncomfortably when the child that looked so much - especially in the darkened room - like little Steve, asked about his weapons. His stomach clenched as his mind wandered to what _he_ - the Steve of his childhood - would have thought if he saw him like this. There was a brief _whirrr-ing _sound from under the soldier's sleeve until he steadied himself again.

"It was nice to meet you, James." He repeated, uncomfortably, but pointedly not answering the question about the weapons.

"Why don't you head back to bed, JJ. I have a lot to talk about, and it's late."

The kid huffed and turned around on one foot, shuffling back off into the hallway. Steve closed the door after him, locking it. He leaned against it, facing Bucky again once it was closed. "His mother was an agent in MI6. She was killed in the line of duty when James was very young. He never really knew her."

"I'm sorry..." He responded quietly, knowing that's what was supposed to be said. The gears in his head were turning, however, and he looked up to Steve with a furrowed brow. "I... don't suppose her name was Peggy?" His bottom lip found its way back under his teeth.

"Yes..." he said, tilting his head. "You... you met her. Bucky, you were supposed to be my best man but then you.." he took a heavy breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm so confused. I don't know what to think right now, Buck. I mean, its you. I _see_ you. Standing here in the flesh and blood but I _know_ you died. How is this possible? This...this 'other world' you say. Like, another dimension?"

Bucky couldn't keep a small, soft snort in. It would figure. Here, too, Steve found his Peggy. ... _and still lost her_ - he reminded himself. His eyes wandered over Steve slowly, though, and he couldn't help but quirk half of his mouth up into a hooked smile. "I woulda been?" It was still flattering - even if it was a different Steve, and the fact that Bucky selfishly had wished before that he could have been more than a "best man".

He pulled himself out of it, focused. Now wasn't the time to feel sorry for himself because of _that_. "Here's what I know... last night I was ... caught near an explosion of a laboratory facility in the warehouse district. They were working on some... weird, experimental technology from what I could see. When I came to, the building was empty, no signs of a fire or explosion. I looked for you where you were supposed to be living, but it obviously wasn't your place. That's when I saw you on the front page of a paper. The date's right and all... but this..." He gestured to the room around them and shook his head, looking a little overwhelmed. "I woulda heard about this. Maybe I've just read too many dimestore novels, but separate dimension? Alternate universe? I dunno. That's all I can come up with."

"Yeah, Bucky Barnes - my Bucky Barnes - was my best friend since I was just a punk kid. We grew up together, enlisted together..." he shook his head, waving his hands. It didn't matter now. "Look, we have to do something. I have ...a friend that might be able to help. He's a scientist and an engineer. He's the smartest guy I know; maybe he can help..."

Bucky lifted his chin at the mention of a scientist. "That's great." It was something at least. Because he had already exhausted his one good idea. "But it's the middle of the night... what should I do for now?" Bucky wanted to approach Steve. It had been so long since he'd seen him, so long since he allowed himself to want to be near him. He shrugged, palms out, still careful not to approach any closer or move his hands any nearer to his weapons.

Steve breathed through his nose and looked around the room. "Look, if they catch you in here, anywhere in here, armed and without security clearance you're going to get arrested and I don't think there's anything I could do. Can you get back out the way you came?"

Bucky pressed his lips into at thin line, his eyes going distant for a moment as he went over calculations in his mind. He had taken careful note of the security through the nights with his reconnaissance. "Probably. It would be difficult. But I could do it." He met Steve's eyes again.

Steve reached into his pants and pulled out his wallet, taking out several bills and shoved them into Bucky's hand. "Get yourself a room and clean yourself up. Come back tomorrow and tell my secretary you're here to see Jeffrey Mace. And please, leave the arsenal." He lifted his eyebrows up seriously, like a father instructing a child. "We'll go see Tony then. I'll clear my schedule."

Bucky hesitated for only a moment before crossing the small distance that still separated the two of them and accepted the offer with a small smile and a decisive nod.

He started to walk past Steve before hesitating just a moment, glancing over his shoulder, "Thank you... it... it was really good to see you."

And then he was gone.


	3. Interlude

Bucky had taken the money Steve had given him and secured a room at a hotel a brisk walk of a few miles away. He paid up front for two nights, to ensure that he had a safe drop for his gear while he was out. Had he not been given this instruction, from Steve himself, Bucky would have considered this a frivolous waste. But he understood the need to clean up and make himself presentable considering the next mission. He utilized the shower - and was surprised to feel his whole body relaxing as _warm_ water poured over him. It wasn't the cold chemical showers from when Hydra had him, or even the rest stop bathroom sinks he sometimes took advantage of while on the road. He shaved away the week's worth of stubble and washed his hair. Years of grime that had never quite shaken free washed down the drain and Bucky felt surprisingly more _human_ as he finally stepped out, and nearly surprised himself as he caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The face that looked back at him caught him by surprised: he looked more like the face on the plaque in the Smithsonian than the haggard ghost of a man that normally peered back out of mirrors. Maybe it was Steve that brought it out of him... he turned away, wrapping himself in one of the decadently plush robes before crashing, exhausted, on the bed.

The next morning, he tucked away his various firearms and knives in a variety of locations around the room: the provided safe, between the mattresses, in the air vents, and underneath some of the heavier furniture. Locations the housekeepers wouldn't check even if they ignored the posted warning of "do not disturb". Reluctantly, he withdrew his final knife from his boot and secured it to the underside of the lid of the toilet tank. Bucky couldn't remember the last time he had gone out _completely_ unarmed. Despite the fact he knew he was more than capable in most situations even without weaponry, he felt ill at ease. But he needed to do this. It was a part of this mission. And if he wanted to see Steve again, he had to try this.

He used most of the remainder of the money to purchase a simple outfit, selected for practicality and to blend in. Not fade into the shadows like his gear, but based on observations of the populace: a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a simple jacket. He kept his gloves, and made the executive decision to keep his boots. He knew how to move with them, he knew their weight and tread. If worse came to worse, he wanted the mobility and their added heft. If he wasn't going to keep his weapons, he at least wanted to keep his boots.

He dropped the jacket he had bought off of the vagrant the night before in front of a scruffy man with a cup full of change along with his old undershirt before leaving the rest of his clothes back at the hotel. Then there was no more preparation required; no more excuses.


	4. To the Tower

Bucky adjusted the collar on his jacket for the seventh time as he made his way towards the front doors of the white house. He felt uncomfortable, anxious, and virtually naked without his weaponry. Out of habit, he dodged eye contact as he made his way through the queue.

But his teeth began to grind as he saw the front of the line: uniformed guards checking identifications... and a metal detector. He swore under his breath. Of course.

He dropped his change, watch, and wallet into a bin before stepping under the arch and set off the inevitable shrill alarm.

"Sir." The security guards immediately put up their hands and stood in front of Bucky before he could step away. "All your pockets empty?"

One stood by Bucky expectantly, and the other grabbed the electronic wand. "Sir?"

Bucky tensed, his jaw clenching and his heart beginning to pound harder and he had to fight back the reflex to ball his hands into fists and prepare for combat. He had expected this, he reminded himself. This was under control.

He kept his left arm hanging limply by his side as he gestured to it with his right. "It's a prosthetic." He growled defensively.

The guards looks between each other and waved the wand over him. On cue, the wand beeped over his left arm. "Roll up for you sleeve?"

Bucky swallowed. He didn't want to make a scene. He didn't want to curb his chances to see Steve again, and he understood this was a delicate situation. Despite having regained most of his memories, he still felt uncomfortable in social situations. Infiltration, he could do. It was the conventional he stumbled with. While he wasn't lying, he didn't know how they'd react to the advanced technology.

"I'm here to see Jeffrey Mace." He decided to try.

The guards exchanged glances again. "Where did you hear that name?"

Bucky looked to the line of people behind him warily and back to the guard, "Is that something you want to talk about out here? He assured me he would clear his schedule to see me today." He said, leveling a Winter Soldier glare at the man who challenged him.

One of the guards stalked away, mumbling into his radio while the other waved the wand over him again. "We have to frisk you for weapons before we can see Mr. Mace."

"Fine." He responded, tersley. His eyes were cold, but he lifted his arms to facilitate the process. Mentally, he repeated to himself, _these are not threats. Don't draw attention to yourself. Stay calm. Neutral. Not a threat._

He patted him down, first frisking along the sides, down his legs, then the outside of his arms. His eyebrow raised feeling the hard metal under his fingers, and he pushed up the man's sleeve to reveal the impressive glinting metal of his left arm. "Does this thing come off?" he found himself asking.

Bucky's eyes flashed with barely contained ire as his sleeve was pushed back to reveal the segmented, shiny metal. He couldn't help but pull it back from his touch. "_It's not that kind of prosthetic."_ He responded defensively.

"Sir," the other guard said, coming back over. "Come with me, please." He grabbed Bucky behind the the arm and lead him quickly out of the crowded visitor's lobby.

"Fine." Bucky clipped with an undisguised roll of his eyes. He let himself be jostled and corralled out of the room, swallowing down the urge to resist. He hoped Steve would appreciate this. Steve... Bucky couldn't think of anything that he wouldn't do for him. Thoughts threatened to swallow him and he took a deep breath, trying to keep himself from drowning in the memories. He usually refused to allow himself the privilege of dwelling on Steve - not while he had been on mission. And now, he was so close to him he could almost feel him. Even if it wasn't _quite_ his Steve...

A few minutes later, Bucky was being ushered by a woman in a well-tailored suit towards the interior of the white house, and into the back of a Lincoln towncar around the back of the Rose Garden. To his surprise, President Rogers was already there, across from him in a casual suit. "Good morning," he said pleasantly, offering him a bottle of water. "Sorry for the trouble at the lobby. I... I didn't know you had a prosthetic arm."

Bucky's face softened immediately as he looked up to see _Steve_ across from him. In the light of the day, in normal clothing and cleanly shaven, Bucky looked like a different person. Despite his longer hair, the resemblance to the Bucky that President Rogers knew was unmistakable.

He felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. He had been preparing himself for an x-ray, for questions and hassling. The fact that he had been immediately cleared spoke silent volumes to how much Steve trusted him, even if he perhaps had no right to.

Bucky took the bottle with a nod of his head, but was more interestedly drinking in his face. He rubbed his hand self-consciously against his left arm and shrugged. "I didn't tell you." He said quietly. "Maybe I should have. But I don't like talking about it."

"I'm sorry," he said, leaning back into his seat. His chest was full of emotion as he looked over his friend; especially now in the new light of day he looked so much like him he could almost cry. It was like staring at a ghost. He sat cross-legged, his foot bouncing with anxiety. "I'm taking us to talk to a friend of mine; a scientist. If anybody can figure out what's going on here, its Tony Stark."

Bucky's eyes roamed to the window, but couldn't pull them away from Steve for very long. "Stark?" He questioned, brows furrowing. He remembered Howard. A simultaneous flash of recognition of a daring, cocky man ... and a pang of guilt. He took a swig of the water before setting it down and lacing his fingers together. Tony, though... headlines flashed in his mind's eye. Inventor. Like his father. Rich, a celebrity, and one of Steve's associates. Iron Man.

He gave a dry chuckle, "I think you know him where I'm from, too. I've never met him, but he makes the papers a lot."

"Mr. Stark is more into engineering, but he has a lot of connections. He focuses on alternative fuel research, though, and I know he's been very open minded to ...theoretical sciences." He opened a water bottle of his own, taking a long drink. "Anyway, its the only place I could even begin to think to start."

Bucky cleared his throat with a furrowed brow "Does he still have his Iron Man suit?" He asked genuinely curious, "Flashy... red and gold... metal?"

When he asked about the suit, Steve's eyebrows knit together. "Metal suit? What are you talking about?"

Bucky waved a hand dismissively, "I guess that's a no. He's all over the news where I'm from in it."

Bucky hesitated for a moment before changing the subject, tapping his fingers on his knee for a moment, "Thanks for meeting with me, Steve... President Rogers... I..." He gave a grunt of frustration and shook his head, not knowing how to act. Social situations were difficult enough for him sometimes, but here - he wanted to reach out, to touch him, to... to feel like he was home again.

Steve shook his head, understanding completely. It felt weird to be called 'President Rogers' by Bucky, but at the same time he had to keep reminding himself that this wasn't _his_ Bucky.

Bucky nodded, for now, avoiding calling him by a name directly. President Rogers felt ... far too odd in his mouth. "Thanks for helping me... I know you didn't have to do this personally... hell, you didn't have to help me at all considering... the intrusion last night... and how crazy it still probably sounds."

"You're lucky you look so much..._exactly_ like him. You sound like him..." he paused and shook his head, laughing darkly to himself. "You smell like him."

Bucky lifted an eyebrow, studying Steve's face and trying to read between the lines. His shoulders relaxed and a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth for a moment. "You too."  
>He brushed a strand of hair from his eyes, hooking it behind an ear. "I mean... I <em>am<em> James Buchanan Barnes... Bucky... just... well... I don't think I'm the same man you knew... I.. _am_ sorry, Ste - President Rogers. I wish I was. I... miss you." He winced, his stomach clenching at the admission.

The emotion was getting hard to control. He rubbed his face in his hands, trying to focus. "I miss you, too, Bucky..." He looked him over, still in disbelief. "Its been... almost twelve years now, Bucky. But it feel like it was yesterday. I know... I know when we enlisted there was always the chance that something could happen. But I just never thought you'd actually..." a tear slipped down his cheek and Steve wiped it away hurriedly. "I'm sorry, I know you're not him but I still feel like I should say something. Say... how sorry I was I couldn't save you, Bucky."

Steve's words had more of an effect on the man than he might have assumed. Bucky's face crumpled as he pulled his eyes away from Steve's impossibly blue ones, and scrubbed at his face. He took a shaking breath, "If... what happened here is anything like what happened to us... it wasn't your fault."

"I know that's true. Somewhere in here," he pointed to his head, "I know that's true. But it doesn't make it any less painful. Of all the people I've saved in my life... the two people I loved the most in the world I ... I couldn't do anything about it. Peggy was out of my reach, but Bucky... you were right there. Three feet to the left and it would have been me instead of you. Three feet to the right and we'd both be alive. It just doesn't seem fair sometimes. Like none of my medals or my training or anything ever amounted to _anything._ Because no matter what I couldn't save you two."

Bucky hesitated for a moment, chewing at his lip. "You need to stop blaming yourself for things that you had no control over, Steve." He said quietly. The more he learned about this Steve-but-not-Steve, the harder it was to distinguish him from the man that Bucky...

He swallowed, and finally did what he'd been wanting to do since the night before. He reached across with his right hand, and took Steve's, "You blamed yourself for what happened with me, too. Even though I was the one who put myself into the line of fire." He gave Steve's hand a squeeze.

Steve interlocked his fingers into Bucky's enthusiastically, unable to stop the smile from spreading over his face. It was Bucky but it wasn't, but it didn't seem to matter right now. Steve needed to say these things; to get them off his chest. For Bucky to hear them even if it wasn't the same Bucky. "I can't promise that," he said honestly. "Every day I go over it in my head - wondering if I should have known. If I missed anything that could have saved you. Even though the answer is always no, I still look for it." He shook his head, "Random seems just too cruel."

Bucky smiled at the contact that he had been craving, even something as small as this, giving Steve's hand a light squeeze. How long had it been since he had touched _anyone_ with tenderness...? "You told me last night that I was hit by an IED... it was war. The world is cruel and random. You can't continue to beat yourself up because you survived, Steve."

"Watch me." He shook his head with a self-depreciating chuckle. "I know you're right. But it still hurts. Between you and Peggy, that's why I went into politics. I never had a real desire to do so - it wasn't my calling or anything. But I couldn't deny that it was where the real power lay. The real ability to affect change. Soldiers just follow orders, and I used to be okay with that. But after the things I've seen..." He paused and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to keep the tears at bay, "Things need to change. Perhaps I'm naive for thinking I can change the world, but damnit if I'm not going to try."

"If anyone can, it's you." He said honesty. "You're a good man. A man I followed into battle on more than one occasion. You never stood for bullies, no matter how big they were." He said with a light chuckle. "Maybe this really is the place you belong." His hand lingered in Steve's, needily.

Steve couldn't help but smile, despite the shine in his eyes from his unshed tears. He pulled on Bucky's hand, tugging into into a hug. He wrapped his arms around his friend and was suddenly overwhelmed. This was Bucky. It didn't matter what his brain was telling him; every other instinct in his body knew it was the case. The way he felt into his arms. His warmth. His scent. His cadence. He buries his face in his neck and breathed him in, his hands clapping on his back.

Bucky fell into Steve's embrace, his breath hitching in his throat as he felt strong arms circling his shoulders and Steve's fragrance filled his nose as his face brushed against his cheek. Slowly, self-consciously, he brought his arms up and circled Steve's chest, clinging to him. His embrace was surprisingly strong, and his left arm hard, but despite his strength, there was a shake in his limbs with barely restrained emotion. It felt so right. He missed Steve _so_ much. He shouldn't have run from him...

"Bucky..." Steve breathed, letting logic fade away and choosing to just live in this moment. "Bucky I've missed you so much," he whispered, his mouth just centimeters away from his ear. "I've missed you so much..."

The emotions were finally spilling over, and the tears were falling over his face. He wiped them into Bucky's shoulder and held the hug, squeezing his eyes shut and praying to any God that would listen that Bucky - his Bucky - could somehow feel what he was feeling; that he knew how sorry he was and how much he missed him.

Bucky had faced seasoned soldiers, impossible security, and formidable foes. But here in Steve's arms he began to break, cracks forming in his deliberately cultivated veneer of composure. He hadn't been permitted weakness. Hadn't even permitted it in himself on his own mission of revenge. But he had been strong for so long... too long. Hearing, _feeling_ Steve's words in a breath against his ear - it was the last straw. Bucky's facade crumbled and he heaved a wet sob into his shoulder as words began to tumble from his mouth. "Steve... I've missed you, too. I'm sorry... I'm so sorry."

They just held each other for what seemed like hours. Steve let him cry on his shoulder which only egged his own tears to continue to fall. His heart was leaping; it knew nothing of whatever magic or science or psychosis had brought Bucky back to him, but it no longer mattered in this moment. Realities apart but he still felt just as close to this man as ever. He didn't pull away until the sobs stilled, and even then, he pulled back just far enough to look him in the eyes. A lingering thought had been creeping on the corners of his mind, and he took a shuddering breath. "We'll figure out what's going on. We'll get you back."

Bucky's eyes were red, puffy and wet when he finally met Steve's, which only made the blue-grey of his eyes shine all the brighter. He nodded, chewing on his lip to help steady himself before he trusted himself to speak without (much of) a quaver in his voice. "Thank you."


	5. Tony Stark

A couple hours later, the procession pulled up to Stark Tower - an impressive skyscraper in the middle of NYC. Steve's leg hadn't stopped twitching the rest of the ride there, nervousness and a thousand questions, worries, hopes, and dreams filling his head. He felt so _human_ - something he hadn't felt since his presidential campaign started so many years ago. He had been so trained to bottle down everything. His temper, his empathy. The loss of his wife and his best friend was what propelled him into this position, but now with Bucky right in front of him, he wondered if it was all worth it after all.

Security was heavy, but that was something Steve had gotten used to. Tony Stark - every bit the man Bucky would have been used to from the papers less his iron suit - met him at the curb.

"Good to see you, Mr. President," he said with a cadence that bordered on sarcastic. "Seriously it takes something like this to get you to come visit?"

"Nice to see you, too, Tony," Steve returned, his smile indicating how generous he was for letting the disrespect slide. He shook his hand and patted his shoulder with a genuine fondness. "Let me introduce you to Bucky Barnes. In a way."

Tony stepped away from Rogers to look him over. "Sergeant Barnes," he said, extending his hand. "It's nice to see you. Again?"

Bucky forced a mask of composure back over his face as he followed Steve to appraise the new situation and man they had come to meet. He hesitated a moment, his eyes strafing, scrutinizingly over Tony before he reigned in his training and put on a smile that he hoped looked appropriate for the social context and extended his right hand to take Tony's. His handshake was just a little too firm. "Thank you for meeting me... or... meeting me again...?" His brows knit together uneasily. "I take it Ste - President Rogers debriefed you on the circumstances?"

"As much as he understands it, at least. Sergeant Barnes, at least the Sergeant Barnes from here, was part of the platoon that pulled me out of the clutches of Al Qaeda. And this guy," he looked to Rogers, "Well, if he says you're him, you're him. Theoretical physics isn't exactly my strongest suit, but nothing I can't figure out in a few days. Why don't you come in?"

Bucky couldn't help but feel himself ease a little at Stark's cavalier charm. He was just as humble as Howard, too. His mouth quirked up into a smile as he snorted, "Reassuring, thanks Mr. Stark." He grinned and returned his hands to his jacket pockets and nodded, "Thanks for your time... and I am sorry, _I_ never actually met ya personally. Read about you, and, well, I met your father, Howard?" He glanced to Steve before falling into step behind Tony, giving the ample security a careful eye.

"You knew my Old Man then?" he said, the doors to his Tower opening as he walked close. Secret Service followed close behind the group, but Stark Tower had long been cleared for safe passage for the President.

Steve followed, watching the exchange with a smile. Bucky and Tony hadn't known each other very well; it wasn't very long after their rescue of Stark that Bucky had been killed, but somehow it still made him happy to watch two of his best friends chat it up. After his rescue, Tony had become a huge supporter of Captain Rogers, and virtually bankrolled his entire political career.

"That's odd... you see at least in this universe he died long before I ever met you or President Rogers."

"I didn't know him very well," Bucky admitted, a little hesitance in his voice as his mind threatened to wander down a rabbit hole that he preferred not to explore right now with the son of a man who, at least in his world, he had assassinated. Instead, he forced himself to stay on topic, letting his eyes wander to Steve to help ground him and keep the smile on his face.

"He provided a lot of useful tech and support in the war... ah... Steve's and my timelines... they're kinda fucked up." He added with a wince as they walked into the tower and Bucky's eyes roamed the building lobby. He'd been living in "the future" for long enough that he wasn't usually caught off guard, but he also had been keeping his head down and slumming it for the pat three years. His eyes widened as they took in the clean lines and smooth, reflective surfaces. It really did look like a building of the future.

"Is 'fucked up' the technical term," Tony asked with a chuckle. "But no, I'm curious. You knew both Steve and my father, that's interesting. Do I even exist in your world?" He paused, almost as if he realized he probably didn't want to know, but shrugged and kept walking, leading the entourage to the elevators.

"Yes, sir, it is." Bucky responded with a snark and a grin. It was frankly a little amazing, even to him, how much better he felt around Steve... and after some of his emotional dam had crumbled in the car. As he walked, his gait was less of the Winter Soldier's prowl, and more of Bucky's swagger as he gaped at the architecture.

"But yeah, yeah you do. Hard to miss - you're always turning up in the papers. Press loves or hates you, hard to say."

Tony gave a laugh as the elevator without buttons lifted them up at an impressive speed. "Usually depends on how good of a time the reporter had, if you catch my drift, Barnes?"

"Tony," Steve warned, not liking when his friend got crass, especially when they were on 'official business.' Not that Tony ever listened to him anyway.

"Sorry, mother," he chided, but still gave a wink to Bucky. "If you don't mind I'd like to poke and prod you a little bit. For science, you know. I guess your ultimate goal is to get back to your own universe? Is grunge still big where you're from?"

Bucky sure as hell didn't seem to mind Tony's lack of formality. This was familiar, this stirred up the practiced charm that had long been dormant behind the Soldier's mask. Memories churned: cigarette smoke and hazy dance halls, the burn of cheap liquor and muscles after hours of dancing. Beaming girls and his gaze wandering back to the small, blonde man who clung to the walls.

"Uh... yeah, I guess you can." Bucky said a little hesitantly as he tensed his muscles to keep himself steady on the rapidly ascending elevator. Another flash of memory - this one accompanied by a shudder - of restraints and pain. _This isn't like that_, Bucky chided himself mentally as he set his jaw and balled his fists. "I can't say I'm very fond of doctors, though." He breathed before meeting Tony's eyes and giving him a confused look, "Grunge?"

Tony pointed to his head. "The hair. It was a style here, like... two decades ago. Don't worry about it. You pull it off. Really. And you're in luck, I'm not a doctor, actually. I have two Master's Degrees from MIT, tho. Does that count? Oh wait, no, I have an honorary doctorate from... somewhere, I don't remember you'll have to ask Pepper."

Steve rolled his eyes as the elevator door opened, revealing an impressive laboratory.

"Hey can the babysitters wait here?" Tony asked as they exited. "No offense boys, but this is top level classified stuff here. Worth more than this loser is paying you, I promise," he said with an accusatory finger point to Rogers.

Steve gave then a stern nod and they posted themselves on either side of the elevator door.

"Oh," Bucky smirked and ran a hand through his hair. It would feel too strange looking just like his old self when he didn't feel like him any more. "No, just... it didn't feel right cutting it again yet. Long story."

He shrugged as he stepped out of the elevator and took in the room that looked half World's Fair and half Frankenstein's Laboratory. He hesitated, swallowing down his anxiety and clenched and unclenched his fist, yielding a mechanical whirring noise. One step, two, and he was in, but gravitating a little closer to Steve's side and failing to completely mask the fear from his eyes.

"So... uh... what do you need?"

"Well, everything you'll give me," Tony said, motioning to a metal examination tray that looked eerily familiar. "If you don't mind taking off your shirt and taking a seat?"

Bucky's heart began to pound harder in his chest, and he froze in his tracks. He swallowed hard as his eyes fixed on the tray of tools.

"Can you put those things away... for a moment...?" He forced out, turning towards Steve and focusing on him instead of the equipment.

Tony looked confused, but did as he was asked.

Only when the nightmarish tools were tucked out of sight, Bucky tugged off his gloves and then shrugged out of his jacket, revealing the astoundingly sophisticated metal arm. His anxiety and sharper than normal movements caused the plates to slide around as he tensed with an audible whirring. Bucky's eyes darted between Steve and Tony, self-consciously.

Steve came over to him with a concerned look on his face, but his jaw dropped open as he saw the sophisticated prosthetic. "Oh my God.." he marveled, reaching out to touch it but stopping to look to Bucky for permission.

"Is it Christmas?" Tony exclaimed, not bothering with Steve's politeness. "This is fascinating, what is it made out of? Titanium-aluminum alloy?" He ran his fingers over it, feeling in the grooves. "Do you have tactile sensation?"

Bucky's expression became more guarded again with the sudden attention, his posture drawing in on himself as if he were trying to take up less room. At least the tools had been put away, but then Tony was suddenly on him, poking and prodding at the arm. He frowned, but resisted the urge to pull away. He gave Steve a small nod, surprised (and a little relieved) to see wonder in his expression rather than fear or disgust.

"I don't know what it's made of..." He said quietly to Tony. "They never told me. But I can detect pressure... recognize shapes, basic textures, and extreme temperatures."

"Jarvis," Tony said, seemingly to no-one. "Scan this, right now."

"Yes, sir," a disembodied voice answered, and a flash of lasers seemed to come out of nowhere, shining over his arm and flashing.

Bucky fell back a step as the laser show washed over his arm, flinching and preparing himself for pain, and surprised when he couldn't feel anything. His eyes roamed the ceiling, looking for a source of the voice or the lasers. "Fuck," He whispered under his breath, caught off guard and his heart stll hammering in his chest.

Steve put a hand on Bucky's human shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "You okay?" he asked softly, while Tony was already looking over something on a tablet.

"Amazing. This is better than Ti6Al4V, but way lighter. It must have more oxygen and aluminum..."

"Bucky, this is incredible. I had no idea you even had a prosthetic until this morning. It's so life-like.."

He ignored Tony's jargon and turned his head quickly to Steve as he touched his other shoulder, an anchor than he needed. "Yeah. I'm fine." He breathed, not precisely looking fine. He was a little pale, his eyes wide.

Steady. He focused on Steve's blue eyes, and those perfect lashes and made himself listen to what he was saying. He shook his head, "It's not life-like." He said with a sneer on his lip. "It looks like a machine. It makes _me_ look like a machine."

"You don't look like a machine," Steve said, holding Bucky's gaze and keeping him focused while Tony hovered around like an excited hummingbird on speed. "You look like a survivor. It's incredible. You know how many of my men went home missing arms and legs. And that's if they got to go home at all. We've come a long way in prosthetics over the last few years but nothing this advanced. They would love to have something like this...something they could use to touch their wives again with." He gave his shoulder another squeeze. "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to discount your apprehensions."

Tony's readings showed that the hardware was more than just external; a network of fibers and support systems, circuits and other complicated and intricate machinery went under the skin and anchored through his muscles and into the bones of his clavicle, scapula and even some ribs and vertebrae. All of it was beyond cutting-edge in both material and design, but would have required extensive, invasive surgery to implant, especially networked so close to arteries and vital organs like Bucky's heart.

Bucky maintained his focus on Steve and his breathing began to even out again, finally nodding. "It would have been different if they had given me a choice..." Bucky said, tightening his lips, weighing his words before he spoke, "...If this was designed to touch a loved one instead of being used as a _weapon_."

To emphasize his point, Bucky roughly removed his t-shirt, revealing the extensive scarring where the metal met flesh.

"This is... _incredible._"

Steve broke his gaze from Bucky for just long enough to throw a warning glare at his scientist friend. Tact wasn't exactly his strong suit.

Turning back to Bucky, "What do you mean?" He couldn't help but look at the scars with a wince. He reached out to hesitantly touch the connection of metal and skin, fascinated by how the metal seemed to integrate directly into his body; this was no prosthetic at all. He licked his lips in concentration, glancing up at Bucky's eyes every few seconds to make sure he wasn't overstepping his bounds.

Bucky was clearly tense, more than a little uncomfortable at being on display and the center of attention. He had to keep reminding himself that these were allies... _friends_, not Hydra scientists. These men weren't going to hurt him. And one of these men was _Steve._ A hesitant frown tugged at his mouth, but he didn't pull back from his contact. If anything, the gentle touch from the man he trusted more than anything else in this world or any other rooted him, and was helping to keep Bucky from spiraling down into a flashback or panic attack.

He sighed, "After I fell, I was recovered by Hydra. They're the ones that did this to me. They used me." The words came out strained. How could words encapsulate what he went through, all they had done to him? Not sure if he was making the gesture to reassure Steve or himself, Bucky gingerly placed his flesh and blood hand on top of Steve's, giving it a small squeeze.

Steve blinked in confusion. "Hydra?"

"Yeah..." Bucky said hesitantly with a furrowed brow. Could he really not have heard of them? He was the president. He'd been to war. Or, was it possible Hydra had never formed here? Bucky canted his head, "They grew out of a rogue science division within the Nazi regime, but spread from there, infiltrating several government organizations."

Steve and Tony exchanged glances. "Rogue Nazi scientists built this thing?" Tony asked, pulling out a small screwdriver. "How old is this thing? This kind of technology is fifteen years away. At best."

Bucky's attention moved to Tony, watching him carefully, but he kept his real hand over Steve's. At least the atmosphere seemed to be transitioning from a freak show to information sharing. "I don't know who originally built it... but yeah, I assume them or someone they were working with. I... think it was ... the mid or late forties... when they originally installed it, but they upgraded it a number of times over the years." Bucky searched his memories - they were fuzzy when it came to dates, and the number of times he spent strapped into restraints while scientists tinkered with his arm, replacing large pieces of it or fine-tuning the circuitry, blended together.

"The forties?" Steve gaped, squeezing Bucky's hand back. "So, the war you keep referring to...was _World War II_?" He shook his head in disbelief.

Bucky nodded hesitantly to Steve. "Yeah... I know that's just another cherry on top of this already hard-to-swallow sundae. That's why I didn't wanna bring it up. I figured that probably didn't happen here since you mentioned Iraq."

"If the Nazis had this kind of technology, we would have been screwed," Tony pitched in. "Do you mind...?" he motioned to an almost indistinguishable control entrance panel tucked under one of the segments on his shoulder, indicating the screwdriver in his hand. "Uh, well, I guess that goes to say... did we win, where you came from? You don't seem to have a German accent, so hopefully that's a good sign."

"Yeah, we won, thank God." He turned back to Tony. "Hydra pulled away from the Nazis part way through the war and went on to become their own _thing_. Steve 'n me and the rest of our battalion focused our efforts fighting them." He hesitated for a moment, eying the screwdriver before finally nodding. At least he wasn't being strapped in. "Yeah... it's been a few years since anyone's taken a look at it. I don't know if you'd even know where to start with diagnostics, I sure as hell don't."

Tony looked like a kid in a candy store as he began to fiddle with the panels on his arm. He pulled out an array of highly specialized tools, and it was only a few minutes before he had his shoulder arm panel opened, exposing an astounding network of gears, circuit boards, cables, and even tissue. Tony actually made a sound, somewhere between a moan and excited yelp, looking like he was about to cry from joy.

Steve pressed his lips together and picked up on the tension in his friend. He tried to distract him by keeping him talking, trying to keep Bucky looking into his eyes and not at the poking and prodding Tony was about to do.

"That sounds horrifying," he admitted. "So Hydra did this to you? Why? If you were just a prisoner of war...why be so generous?" His stomach was knotting inside him, afraid of where this was going.

It didn't hurt, but that didn't mean Bucky didn't flinch. He moved his hand away from Steve's to grab his own metal wrist, steadying himself. The last thing he wanted to do was reflexively backhand Tony when he was trying to help him. "Just... take it easy in there, okay? Don't break anything - I can't fix it." He said between gritted teeth.

But yet, it was Steve's question that made Bucky's stomach drop. He knew it was coming, but that didn't make it any easier to talk about. He took a deep breath, and made himself meet Steve's blue eyes. "They had experimented on me once before. My unit had been captured earlier in the war and you came in and busted my sorry ass out of there. I didn't know what they had done then, but it's how I survived my fall later, and why they were so keen to get me back. They were trying to recreate... an enhancement that had been done to you. Something that had already gone wrong when their leader, Schmidt, tried an earlier version of the serum. Apparently I was the only one that had... shown initial results. When they got me back, they finished the job." He whet his lips; here was the hard part. "They broke me. Brainwashed me. Used me for decades, putting me into some kind of cryo sleep between missions. Three years ago you found me and snapped me out of it. But I've been on my own since then, trying to track down the remnants of their facilities and destroy them."

Both Tony and Steve were dead silent. Even Tony stopped his ministrations inside his arm panel to watch and listen to Bucky's story. Neither of them should have believed it, and neither of them would have if Bucky Barnes, who had been dead for over ten years, wasn't sitting right there in Tony's laboratory with a futuristic, fully functional metal arm and being studied.

There was an uncomfortable silence as Steve tried to think of what to say. The expression on his face was naked aguish - he wanted to rush over and hug his friend; but he also had a thousand questions running through his mind.

Tony wasn't good with silence. He touched a live conductor to one of the circuit boards in the arm, trying to get back to what he was doing - but it caused a flash of sparks and a jolt of electricity (not exactly pain, but certainly not a pleasant feeling) directly into the back of Bucky's spine.

"FUCK!" Bucky's back arched and his wrist broke free of his grasp. Tony was luckily close enough to Bucky to not catch the full rotation of the spasm and get clocked by the full force, but the back of his arm still caught him. And even in the motion that was more haphazard involuntary reflex than a calculated attack, there was enough force to send Tony back into the closest wall of the laboratory.

"Shit!" Bucky spun, eyes wide and frozen, caught between going to help and start pouring apologies, and turning and running because he wasn't fit to be around normal human company.

"Tony!" Steve immediately ran to him, crumpled on the floor nearly halfway across the room. He gave a quick glance back at Bucky before dropping to his knees behind his fallen friend. There was a cut on his brow above his left eye, and already a patch of reddish bruising beginning to form across his face.

For a moment, Steve's heart seized up in his chest. But then Tony's eyes fluttered open and he began to laugh - a full bellied, bordering on hysterical laugh. "You punched me back like... like... twelve feet..." Tony tried to stagger to his feet, leaning on Steve for support. "That's incredible, from a fully immobile position... that kind of power.. it's magnificent.."

Tension slowly - very slowly - began to drain from Bucky as he shook his head, bewildered at the man's reaction. Thank God he hadn't been hurt worse, though. "Not the word I'd use," He muttered as he tentatively, hands up in a display of peace, walked towards the two of them. "I... I'm so sorry. I should have warned you," He chided himself, flinching, "They used to restrain me, but that didn't always stop me from fighting back. I thought I'd be okay, but I... I'm not always Okay..." He swallowed. "God, I'm a mess..." Maybe he should just go. He couldn't - he just couldn't deal with it if somehow he wound up hurting Steve.

"Bucky, I had no idea," Steve said seriously, leaving Tony once he was steady on his feet and going back over to him. "Look, we don't have to mess with the arm, its irrelevant. We just need to figure out how to get you back to your...place."

"Hey hey hey, don't be so hasty!" Tony quickly interjected. "I can take a hit! I'm not anywhere close to being done with that thing."

"Steve's right... The arm is operational. I don't see how tinkering with it is going to do anything to help the matter at hand." Bucky frowned, clutching at the arm.

But then, he shook his head, took a breath, closed his eyes and tried to recenter himself. When he opened them again, he looked a little better. "Look... I just really don't want to hurt either of you. Hydra... they fucked me up. I'm jumpy - they never used anesthetics or anything on me - and I have... I have a lot of bad memories. I know... I know I probably owe you for your help, Mr. Stark... and if Steve trusts you, then I trust you. I'm way out of my league here."

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine, look, I'll make some calls. Let me take some blood just in case and see who I can shake out. I don't exactly have Stephen Hawking on my speed dial."

He tapped the butt of his screwdriver against his chin. "Pepper might." He waved his hands. "Never mind, I'll see what I can do. But its going to take a while, regardless. Stay in touch." Tony came over, hands up in a 'don't shoot' pose, and motioned to Bucky's open panel.

Steve stuck like glue to Bucky's side, keeping him focused. "I'm so sorry all that happened to you, Bucky..." he said honestly, taking a hold of his hand again. "I've seen men come back from war really...really messed up. And POWs..." he shook his head, a mix of sympathy and anger towards Bucky's other-dimensional captors. He helped keep Bucky still, pressing gently against his human shoulder, while Tony closed the panel and took a few samples of his blood from his human arm.

Bucky eased up after Tony resealed the panel on his shoulder, and had no problems with a simple blood draw, especially with Steve right there by his side and the reassuring contact.

"Thank you for your help, Mr. Stark." Bucky managed to even add a small smile when he finished his work. "Sorry again about my reaction... and your face..." He winced, but he got the distinct feeling Tony probably thought it was worth it for the digital scan and brief physical examination he got... and would take a second hit given the opportunity it it meant being able to dig around in his arm some more.

"And, thank _you_, Steve..." He added quietly, still not quite sure _how_ he was supposed to react to the man that was at the same time his oldest friend and a stranger. He wanted his arms around him, but this was the _President_... and he had no clue what their relationship might have been like here, how to begin to ask, or even if he should. He was barely suitable for conversation as it was.

Steve nodded to Bucky before turning back to Tony and shaking his hand. "You have my private number, please, if there are any strings I can pull, let me know."

"Hey I'm just glad you didn't call me asking for tech support again," Tony said, eyes already back down into his tablet, trying to calibrate a 3D image of the arm scan. "I hope maybe one day Tin Soldier here will let me take another peek under the hood before we zap him back to the Space Nazis or whatever. To be honest it sounds like fun - I wouldn't mind checking him out if this is standard issue there," he said. He shot Bucky a million dollar smile and offered his hand out to him.

Bucky grinned, grasping Tony's hand with his right one, and giving it a just-a-little-too-hard squeeze. "Nah, sorry to burst your bubble. The arm's pretty special even where I'm from. Though from what I've read, you've got some pretty damn impressive tech of your own. Find a way to get me home and maybe I'll have some more stories for ya." Bucky added a wink.

He tugged his shirt and jacket back on, sliding his metal hand back into the glove before returning his hands to his pants pockets. "Guess I'll be seein' ya."

"I'll hold you to that," Tony said with a point to the solider. Then he was back, already buried in his work, leaving Steve and Bucky to let themselves out.

The secret servicemen were still at their post by the elevator and Steve gently led Bucky out, staying close to him. "So, lunch?" he asked his friend, putting his arm around his shoulder and pushing him close to him in a half-hug, trying to shake out some of the tension.


	6. Pancakes

One of the perks of being the President of the United States is that any restaurant becomes a drive through with enough advanced planning. Though not always exactly easy, Steve had become quite adept at eating in the back of his limousine and he was eager to get back to DC with Bucky. So after the trip to Stark Tower, Steve got his driver to make a few calls and less than an hour later, they were at Clinton Street Baking Co, having stacks of pancakes delivered into the back of the fancy car.

The smell alone, as the boxes were brought into the back of the limo, caused the breath to catch in Bucky's chest and his stomach to growl. That smell: It was home. It was a family gathering around the table - his little siblings with shining eyes. It was the morning after payday in a dingy Brooklyn apartment with a small-framed blonde man who was nursing a black eye.

"I don't know about you," Steve said, "But my Bucky's favorite were pancakes. These are some of the best in New York... it was his favorite place."

Bucky couldn't remember the last time he had had a good, hot meal. It was unimportant, impractical on the road. Before that, Hydra provided the nutrition his body required - nothing more, nothing less. Tasteless MRE packets while on mission, and sometimes even intravenous supplementation. Hell, before that was the war.

"God, Steve..." Bucky breathed, reaching for one of the stacks with a bit of the light back in his eyes. "That smells amazing. And I fucking love pancakes." His face fell into a familiar laughing smile as he shook his head in amazement. "God, it's been years."

"Years since you've had pancakes?" Steve asked with a sad smile. "Well, I might have gone overboard... " There were four take-out boxes of hot, fluffy stacks along with a thermos of warm maple syrup, several pints of fruit compote, and a can of whipped cream at their disposal, along with all the needed utensils to make them as easy to eat as one could imagine in a moving vehicle.

"Well, knock yourself out," Steve said, slathering on the syrup on his own stack. "I'm going to have to spend like four hours in the gym later to make up for this, but I can't help it. Sometimes, you just need comfort food."

Maybe Bucky had died in the explosion, because this sure as hell felt like heaven. Here, with Steve, and more pancakes than he could probably finish even with his crazy metabolism. He might have believed it, if for a moment he thought he deserved heaven.

"Yeah," He admitted sheepishly, not adding that any real hot meal was was what he had meant, "And I think I could probably eat whatever you can't finish, Rogers." He hadn't wanted to admit just how hungry he was.

He almost didn't know where to start. Almost. Like a kid, he opened up one of the boxes and breathed in the decadent scent before pouring syrup over it, ladling on the fruit... and an (un)healthy dollop of whipped cream.

As if he were starving, or felt like the food was going to be torn away from him, he dug in, stuffing his mouth with the first bite. "Hnnnnnnn..." He murmured around the full mouth. It was even better than he remembered. Homemade... fresh fruit, real whipped cream...

"Sir, the Vice President is on the line," said a voice on the comm.

"Of course," Steve said, his cheeks bulging around his last mouthful. "Put him on."

With an electric whir, a conference screen slid down across from them, coming to life. "Good afternoon, Alex," Rogers said cheerfully, holding up his own fork of pancakes.

"Pancakes for dinner, Steven?"

Before Bucky had even looked up at the screen, that voice resonated deep in the dark inner workings of his mind; causing his back to straighten and his heart to seize up in his chest. When his eyes raised to the man on the screen, the face burned into his retinas.

It was Alexander Pierce.

"What can I say, they're the best in New York. Alex, this is an old friend of mine..." Steve looked to Bucky and a flash of panic lit behind his eyes. "Uhm, you remember me speaking of my old friend Sergeant Barnes? This is his brother." He paused, pursing his lips. "Sebastian."

Steve flashed Bucky a quick 'I'm so sorry' look, before plastering a smile on his face and looking back at the screen.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Barnes," the older man said, though there was no real warmth to it. "Steven, I was just concerned. Its not like you to cancel meetings."

The change in Bucky's attitude was immediate and unequivocal. One moment, he had been probably the most relaxed he had been since before Hydra. Willing to accept that Stark tinkering around in his arm was well worth a stack of honest-to-God Pancakes with Steve.

But that voice... _that voice_. His head snapped up and the last face he ever wanted to see was suddenly before his eyes; he shrunk back into the seat of the car as if Pierce had slapped him instead of greeted him. "...sir..." he whispered, almost dutifully, when he was addressed.

How many times since his escape had Bucky envisioned closing his metal fist over Pierce's throat? Or perhaps backhanding him like his handler had done to him when he was disobedient - but hard enough to crack the man's skull. He had had no issue tearing through Hydra scientists and soldiers without a moment's regret. And yet, decades of conditioning and twisted Stockholm bonding to _that_ person was not something that could just be shrugged off and discarded. Bucky dropped his eyes, his frame rigid, the pancakes sitting forgotten in his lap as he hung his head like a scolded child.

Steve looked over at Bucky concerned, putting his fork down and trying to catch his gaze. He frowned, but for now he would handle Pierce. "Stark needed to see me," he said as casually as he could, back to the old gentleman on the screen. "And please, the world isn't going to stop on its axis because I missed one security debriefing. I'm _sure_ they'll catch me up when I get back to DC. I'm en route as we speak."

He looked back to Bucky, his brows knit. "Oh one more thing..." he said back to the monitor. "Mr. Barnes is going to my guest in DC for a few days. We have a lot of catching up to do."

Pierce frowned, his eyes going back to the man who looked wholly unwelcoming. Not Steve's general type of friend. "Do you really think now is the best time for social company, Steven?" he asked sternly, like a father to his teenage son.

"How can I say no to that face?" Steve tried to joke, gently kicking at Bucky with his foot and encouraging him to smile.

Bucky's head snapped back up sharply with the combination of contact and Pierce's voice. But it didn't come with a smile - just a fear-striken look at Pierce as he uncomfortably whet his lips. All of his recovery, all of the independence he had gained back seemed to ball back up into the pit of his stomach, despite Bucky inwardly screaming at himself to snap out of it. He hated himself for how seeing this man _still_ made him feel.

"I trust you, Steven," the man said, though he looked rather unimpressed, especially with how Bucky was acting. "Call me when you get back into town." The gentleman's eyes went back to Bucky, and seemed to peer directly into this soul. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Barnes. Have a nice ride."

With that, the monitor switched off and retreated back into a storage unit in the upper console. Steve turned to Bucky with a concerned look. "What's wrong, Buck?"

Only when the line was disconnected and the screen retreated did Bucky feel like he could breathe again. With a shaking breath, he leaned back into the leather seat, but the haunted look remained in his eyes. "That... That was Alexander Pierce..." He intoned almost mechanically.

He swallowed, shaking his head, "You... you can't trust him."

Steve's eyes narrowed with concern. "What?" He looked over Bucky, reaching over to put a hand on his knee, trying to calm him down. "You know him?" He shook his head, "No, Alex is a great man. He's former Secretary of Defense, he's one of the best men in the country for foreign relations."

Usually he could just brush this off, like it was just some crazy rambling, but the fact that Bucky didn't trust Pierce sat very unwell with him.

Bucky sat quietly for an uncomfortably long stretch of time. He didn't pull away from Steve's touch, but he didn't look him in the eye, either. He tried to fight past the way that Pierce always made him feel and, apparently, _still_ made him feel. Like a child, like he had to fucking _impress_ him. Finally, Bucky forced himself to turn and look at Steve, and seeing his face - the honest concern written plainly over it, helped Bucky find his words.

"He was a well-respected man where I was from, too. Secretary on the World Security Council. But he was also a leader of Hydra... and he was my handler." Bucky's voice was small, and even verbalizing this series of facts felt like a betrayal.

Steve licked his lips, concerned. There was no Hydra or World Security Council here. "No..." he said, his brow knit. "I mean, not this Alexander Pierce. He's a great man, he's not a Nazi! He once turned down a _Nobel Peace Prize_. He said 'Peace isn't a reward, its a responsibility.'" He squeezed his knee. "I don't know what happened to him in your world, but here, I trust him completely."

But still, it didn't sit right. Steve trusted Bucky implicitly, but... how he could judge this man by the actions of his self in another world? But at the same time... Bucky was still Bucky, at his core. "What do you mean... handler?" he asked hesitantly.

Bucky's eyes darted away and he swallowed. His shoulders stayed folded in on themselves when he spoke, "He was always there... when they woke me up. He gave me my orders." Bucky's jaw set, "He made the decisions - he told me who my targets were, and told the doctors when I needed to be wiped."

The color was draining from Steve's face as he listened. "Wiped?"

Bucky nodded, "They wouldn't let me remember: who I was, past missions, names... When I started to, they'd put me in a machine. It hurt... it... it sent electricity into my brain..." He took a breath, trying to keep his words steady, "Sometimes, they'd use it as a punishment if something went wrong... or if I ever questioned orders or refused to answer a direct question."

"I..." Steve was shocked, the pain evident on his face. "I'm so sorry, Bucky. That's... " he shook his head, "God, the more I hear about what happened to you, Buck, the angrier I am. I wish I could _do_ something. You're so strong, Bucky... so strong.."

Bucky shook his head, his lips pressed tight. "I'm not tryin to upset you, Steve..." He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair, "And... for your sake I hope I'm wrong. I only ever saw one side of the guy... but he must've been a real weasel to get to where he was in my world."

Reluctantly, but his appetite ruined, he slid aside his box of pancakes and leaned against Steve's shoulder. "I just... I never want to go back to that. The way he made me feel..." He shuddered, "The things he made me do..."

Steve chewed on his bottom lip, and pulled Bucky close to him when he leaned against his shoulder. "Hey..." he said, his voice calming. "Bucky, I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Not from Pierce or anybody else." He smoothed his hair down over his head and tucked it behind his ears, out of his face. "Look, he has no power over you here. You're free from all that, Bucky, a survivor. Just remember...this isn't the same guy."

Bucky heaved a reluctant breath, trying to push his demons back down. He'd fought too long, too hard to have them scrabbling at him now. It wasn't fucking fair. Now when he was trying to find a bit of fucking happiness. Guess he didn't deserve it. And as much as he loathed it, after just the glimpse of Pierce, alive, he _knew_ it wasn't true that he didn't have any power over him. "Yeah..." He grunted, "Yeah, okay, Steve." There wasn't a lot of optimism in his voice.

Steve frowned, knowing he was turned off and humoring him. "Hey, your pancakes are getting cold," he tried, pulling the box back over. "Come on, Buck. I'm so sorry for what he did to you, but I can't punish this man for something your Pierce did to you. No matter how horrible it was."

He had no idea.

"I'm not asking you to." Bucky finally said, wiping his right hand across his face. "Just... do me a favor, and keep your eyes open. You were always too trusting. Sometimes when you're seeing the best in people, you're ignoring the worst."


	7. Another You, Another Me

A few hours passed in relative silence. Bucky had withdrawn into himself, picking slowly at the pancakes more out of a need to keep up his energy reserves than any actual enthusiasm. However, he maintained at least a basic level of physical contact with Steve - his right shoulder resting against Steve's left: a silent reassurance. He alternated between gazing out the window at the passing cityscapes and over towards Steve, who had become engrossed with something that was probably important on his phone. He didn't mind the quiet. Tension bled out, and eventually, with a full stomach and the familiar presence and even smell of Steve Rogers, Bucky had begun to relax.

Steve had been spending hours googling everything from theories on alternate realties to trying to dig up anything that might have been suspicious about Alexander Pierce. Finally, boredom and frustration (at lack of finding anything with substance) finally won out and Steve put his phone away. He looked over to his left and Bucky seemed much more relaxed now at least. He moved his hand to his knee and patted it. "How you holding up, buddy?" he asked.

Bucky looked up quickly, startled out of his reverie by the sudden break in the silence, but his face switched into an old, practiced smile - the same one he'd round on dames when there was something serious going on that they didn't need to know about.

"Hey, 'm doing alright." He responded, sliding the now-empty, sticky styrofoam box further aside. "I didn't want ta keep ya from your work... figured you're probably a busy man."

Steve shrugged, "I'm allowed to take a break," he said, leaning back and shifting in his seat, getting anxious from the long car ride. A few more moments passed, and Steve's mind went wandering. "So," he started, "What am I like in your world, Bucky?"

This time, the smile that found its way to Bucky's face was more genuine, nostalgic. "Damn, Rogers, where do I even start with that..?" he mused, stretching and repositioning himself, but never moving his thigh from where it brushed against Steve's.

"You were always so earnest. Idealistic. Even when you were ninety-five pounds soaking wet, you wouldn't stand for a bully. You hated being on the sidelines or feeling weak. It was a fuckin' shame you were so sick growing up... Some cold winters in Brooklyn hit you hard. After your ma passed, it was just you 'n me..." He trailed off, fingers interlacing. "I was so scared sometimes that one winter you wouldn't make it through. But you were a fighter." He said with a half-smile and a chuckle.

"Wow," he said, quietly, but didn't pull away from the contact. "I was pretty sick as a kid here, too. But, you said this was during WWII? Before? I guess things have changed. I was born almost ten weeks premature, so it was touch and go for a while. But I grew up, joined the army as soon as I was out of school."

He smiled and looked back at his friend. "Sounds like you really saved my life back then, Buck." He retreated back into his head, coming back with "Do you think we have some kind of connection?" he asked. "I mean, all other things considered; we were best of friends both here and there. Through friendship, through war... it can't just be coincidence, can it?"

"Maybe so..." Bucky conceded, the smile soft on his lips. "Everything always just seemed... _better_... right when we were together. Be it back in Brooklyn or on the battlefield, we looked out for each other. You were a punk..." He chuckled, "But you inspired me."

He took a breath, not even realizing he had been holding it, "You were born early where I'm from, too. Took its toll on you until you managed to stubborn yourself into enlistment after getting turned down five times. It was that earnestness, that wanting to fight the good fight for the right reasons that caught the attention of some scientist working for the SSR: Erskine. You were chosen for an experimental procedure that turned you into... well..." His eyes went to the president's build. It was no pre-serum state; he stood taller, straighter. And there was muscle to his form, but it was leaner. "... they called you their super soldier. And the description's pretty apt. You went from five-foot-four and less than a hundred pounds to six-two and built like a tank. Then you were the one looking out for me."

Steve's eyes went wide. "You're kidding?" He looked down at himself; frowning. He tried so hard to keep himself in shape, but he wondered how much bigger he was where Bucky came from. "I was small when I was really young. Not quite that small after puberty hit, but we enlisted together and I got really into physical fitness. It's been important to me ever since. I hated how I felt when I was younger; so out of control. I guess it became kind of a crutch for me."

"Guess they have better medicine now than they did back in the twenties and thirties, though." Bucky mused, "I'm glad."

Steve flexed his biceps and nudged Bucky with his elbow. "How do I compare?"

Bucky chuckled, and the corner of his mouth pulled up as if it had been yanked on by a fishhook. He didn't budge as Steve nudged him. "Do you really want me to answer that?" There was a twinkle in his eyes that hadn't been there since his arrival.

"Yes, answer," he teased. "It's okay, I can take it. Be honest!"

"You're not bad. But you're no Captain America." He smiled, "If I remember right - though my memory can be a bit spotty - you weighed in at two-forty during the war. And ... you went blow for blow with me before you were able to pull me out of the conditioning..."

"'Captain America'?" He laughed. "That's what they call me? Really? Sounds like some cheesy comic book."

He relaxed his muscles. "Challenge accepted," he added with a wink. "I guess I have a new fitness goal."

"Yeah, well, you didn't pick it. And they _did_ make comics about ya. You were a tool for the propaganda machine before you were a real war hero. You were a symbol when people really needed something good. But Christ, Steve, I shouldn't have said anything. You don't need to change anything."

"Jesus, that sounds so crazy to me. All this during WWII? So, like, is this the future for you?"

"Well, when you say it all out loud, yeah it kinda does." Bucky grinned, "And yeah, technically. I mean, I've been up and about the past few years, but I haven't really had much chance to play the tourist and really catch up." That wasn't entirely true. He had chosen not to - to focus on hunting down the remnants of Hydra instead of going back to Steve. Fuck, he shouldn't have run...

"Then how am I still around if we were buddies before the war?" he asked, shifting himself a bit to be able to look more directly at him.

This time, Bucky didn't shy from his look. He pursued his lips, chewing on the words and how to best phrase them before speaking up, "From what I read, a few days after I fell, you went on a mission to try to stop a plane carrying bombs from reaching the US. Your solution, once you got control of it, was to crash the plane into the arctic." He hesitated, a frown on his face. Bucky'd never had the opportunity to confront Steve on how stupid that was. But he did have to wonder if his decision might have been colored at all by the timing. "Anyway... you were frozen in the ice... and in 2011, SHIELD found you. They thawed you out, and miracles o miracles, you were still alive."

"SHIELD?" He shook his head, it didn't matter. "Wait... I was _frozen in ice_ for over seventy years?" He flopped back into his seat, shaking his head. "If you weren't Bucky Barnes, I'd call bullshit." As if this whole thing wasn't already surreal enough; it was quickly becoming overwhelming.

Bucky snorted, "Yeah, you're telling me. Our lives have been some kind of roller coaster of crazy since the war started... guess it was pretty dumb of me to hope that they'd ever go back to any kinda normal now."

"Says who?" he asks seriously, leaning in a bit. "If your Steve is anything like me, he's going crazy looking for you. You said you were running from him, and I know you've been through a lot but.." he paused, looking at him seriously, "There's probably nothing more he wants in the world but to be there for you, Buck. I can't fathom it.." he's suddenly near tears, to his surprise, and he wipes his face with the palm of his hand, calming him. "If there was any hope - and I mean _any_ hope that my Bucky was still out there. Somewhere. Somehow." He shook his head, his expression full of raw emotion. "I would do _anything_ to get to him."

Bucky shrugged, biting his bottom lip and looking away. But Steve could see the moisture in his eyes. "I didn't think I could face you after everything... not yet. I couldn't just... _stop_ and pretend to be OK when I was... I was so angry. So hurt. I thought if I dealt with Hydra first... then I could come back in out of the cold. You were looking for me..." He snorted, "You were relentless." He hesitated... "I shouldn'tve run from you. God, seeing you now... I didn't allow myself dwell on it before, I was scared I wouldn't be able to keep going. Because you're right. It was probably hurting you worse, and I missed you _so_ much - I didn't even know how bad I needed to see you again... to be back with you."

Steve put his hand on Bucky's shoulder, squeezing it. "You wouldn't have to _pretend _to be okay, Bucky. If your Steve if anything like me, it wouldn't matter. I want to help you. I'm sure he does, too."

He pulled him into a hug, "I'm serious. Please promise me as soon as we get you back, you'll come see me. Him. Whatever."

Bucky froze at first, but slowly began to uncoil, his own arms wrapping - clinging - to Steve. He was right. Bucky _knew_ he was right. "I promise," He murmured, muffled into Steve's shoulder. But he didn't want to let go yet. Instead, he held him just a little tighter, his arms frighteningly strong and immobile, but not squeezing to the point of pain. "I was just... I'm not the same man any more... I don't know if I can be the person he's looking for."

"Don't say that," Steve said, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes. "You will always be Bucky Barnes. Even I can see that, and you're not even from this same damn reality." He gave a dry laugh. "Bucky, I would want to find you, whoever you are. "

Bucky chuckled softly, but Steve could tell that the words found their mark. He hardly knew how to take such a resonant compliment like that. Before he knew what he was doing, he raised his right hand to cup Steve's cheek. "Thanks, Steve... you are... you are _so_ much like him. I'm sorry about... about me here... damn..." He huffed, tripping over his words.

Steve just shined his smile back at his friend, treasuring every moment he had. "I miss him - you - so much. But, somehow, I don't know. Its comforting to know that you're still out there, somewhere. I know its not the same, but I hope... I pray we figure out a way to get you home. I would feel so much better knowing that out there, somewhere, we're together again. Best friends, as it always should be."

Steve wiped at his eyes, a few tears slipping over his cheeks. "Damnit," he laughed, trying to cover for the emotion. "Sorry I didn't mean to get all sappy on you. I just miss you so fucking much."

"Dammit, Steve, you're going to get me goin', too." Bucky snorted, deflecting, and wiped at his face as well. There was a small part of Bucky that was starting to hesitate about leaving at all.

He gave him a brief squeeze with the metal arm, and whet his lips, moving his jaw to try to get the words to shake loose. "Steve... uh... here... were you and I ever...?" He gestured vaguely.

Steve's brows knit, not wanting to mis-understand what he was asking. He sat back just a bit, patting his shoulder. "Were we ever..?" he looked at his expression and took a breath. "... lovers?" he ventured, hoping he wasn't making a fool of himself.

Bucky studied Steve's face, really hoping he didn't overstep a boundary here. "...yeah..." He shouldn't have asked, he already began to chide himself. He was the God damned president. He had been married... Bucky's brow furrowed and he scratched the back of his neck, the silence - while brief - seeming to last forever.

Steve cleared his throat, looking embarrassed. "Uhm, no." It was adorable; how this strong man pushing forty looked just like Bucky's bumbling Steve. Flustered and shy from the simplest question. "You - he - whatever... told me, eventually, that you were gay. It wasn't easy, though, back in those days. Don't Ask, Don't Tell was still in effect and, well... it was really hard for him. He was my best friend my whole goddamn life I just...never knew."

"It wasn't easy back then, either." Bucky said softly, pulling back just a bit, trying to pretend like he was casually reclining with his arms behind his head when really he wasn't sure if contact was appropriate any more. "We could've been arrested if people found out." He winced, he hadn't meant to tip his hand... But it was too late to go back now. Maybe he _had_ wanted to get it out. He hadn't spoken about this to anyone since then... "We stopped when I shipped out, though... we didn't know what was going to happen, and... it got complicated."

Steve swallowed, listening, a blush creeping over the bridge of his nose. "So, were were lovers in your world?" He exhaled a shuddering breath, hand going to the back of his neck. This was certainly a conversation he never imagined himself having. "I don't know, I guess that kind of makes sense. I think..." he blushed harder, what he was saying was some heavy secret he never told anyone, "I think I had it pretty bad for you - for Bucky - my Bucky - when we were kids. I kept it to myself, though. I liked girls just fine, too, and your dad was really scary about that kind of thing." He gave a chuckle, trying to laugh out the tension. "I had no idea he was gay, and then I went into the service, and well..it just didn't seem important anymore. Wasn't too long after that I met Peggy."

Bucky leaned forward again with a sad smile. "We were pretty dense for a while, too. Took us longer than it probably should have to actually figure out we liked each other. I saw how you looked at girls, and even if you couldn't figure out how to talk to them, I knew you liked them. And... well, I was too scared that someone might find out how I really felt. I knew how to pretend, and I made a point to go out with a lot of dames. Especially because after your ma passed, you moved in with me and we lived together for about six years until the war. You were small, an artist, and people were already talkin' shit about you. I didn't want to give them any more cannon fodder if people suspected _me_ on top of it what with living together and all. But maybe because of living so close to each other... things eventually gave way. It was real cold one night, and I didn't want you to get sick again. It wasn't the first time we'd shared a bed to keep you warm, but... it was the first time that I kissed ya..."

"Hunh..." Steve said, a smile spreading over his face. He couldn't deny it sounded pretty romantic. "I guess one thing led to another?" It was strange, but not wholly unpleasant, to talk about this. "It's too bad things were so different back then. I mean, things aren't perfect here, but they're getting better at least. And hell, I'm actually trying my damnedest to do what I can, too."

"Yeah, you could say that," Bucky smiled. "We were young, stupid, and horny. We were lucky that we managed to keep as much of a lid on things as we did and keep up appearances. Honestly, I don't know how much longer we would'a been able to keep things up even if the war hadn't come along. Guys my age were already starting to settle down, and it was awkward still trying to go out dancin' with the girls when I just wanted to stay home with you. Well, I really wanted to go out dancin' with you, but you had two left feet for one, and for two... yeah, just no. No way would that have been okay back then." It felt _really_ good to talk about this.

"Things were different after the war started, though. I'd broken things off before I went to basic. I didn't know what would happen to me, and I didn't want you waiting around for me, gettin' yourself into worse trouble... and... well... we'd all heard the stories about what happens out there when you're alone and scared... By the time you found me, you'd already met Peggy." He shook his head and shrugged. "Not that we ever had much in the way of privacy out there anyway. But it was rough, and it never seemed like the right time to talk about it. And I was scared that after you changed that you didn't see me like that anymore." Bucky was surprised how once he had started talking, the words just came pouring out.

"I'm sure it wasn't that simple," Steve said, listening intently. "I'm sure I missed you terribly." He was quiet for a moment. "If I loved Peggy half as much as I loved mine, though... I'm sorry, Bucky. I guess it just wasn't meant to be back then." He frowned, risking a glance over to him. "That was probably hard for you." He shook his head, "Hell, I sure hope my Bucky didn't feel that way about me ... because Peggy and I.." he waved his hand, it didn't matter anyway.

Bucky shrugged. He sure hoped so. He knew there were a lot of things going on during the war, and Bucky felt selfish feeling as hung up as he did on whether or not Steve still cared for him the same way. But before, and arguably even more importantly than being lovers, they were best friends, and Bucky would never have willingly done anything to ruin that. "She was a real special gal." Bucky said quietly. "And she was one o' the only ones that seemed to see just how special YOU were even before the serum."

Bucky looked over to Steve with a lifted brow, "How did it go down here?"

Steve took a deep breath. "She was working on a joint venture with the US Army. She was part of MI6 special services, a real secret agent gal," he said with a nostalgic smile. "While I didn't seem to be as sick as your Steve was, I wasn't exactly the epitome of fitness, I barely passed the requirements to even enlist, and that was only with intensive training. But I did have a few experimental performance enhancers I volunteered for. Nothing as drastic as what your Steve seemed to go through, but the Crown was just as interested as we were on that kind of thing." He paused, looking down over himself. "Nothing was ever conclusive on that front, but Peggy and I really hit it off. We dated, even through it was always long-distance. Wasn't too long after that I was deployed to Iraq. Proposed the night I shipped out."

Bucky was leaning forward, listening to Steve with his elbows on his knees. It always made him a little uncomfortable, seeing him and Peggy, hearing him talk about her. Seeing him in the bar that night when Peggy strolled in in her red dress and stole the moment he was hoping to rekindle... it was then that he realized that he wasn't the only other person in Steve's universe any more. But he couldn't get in the way of seeing him happy, either. "Were you happy?" Bucky asked quietly, "You mentioned last night... she was killed in action? How long did you get?"

"Yeah, I was happy for a while," he said with a sad smile. "I mean, it was never roses, I suppose. You were killed before we have the chance to tie to knot officially. That was hard, Bucky, I wanted you there so bad." He was getting emotional again, and he wiped his eyes with the palm of his hand. "We got married as soon as we could, even through I was still on active duty. She got pregnant shortly after, and James was born. She took a leave of absence from active duty to raise him, but..."

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "It didn't matter. Someone, somehow found her cover. She was assassinated, right there in her home. James was only four months old," he couldn't stop the emotional onslaught and his voice caught in a sob as he covered his mouth with his hands, trying to choke it back.

"Jesus..." Bucky whispered, "I'm so sorry... I had no idea it was that rough..." It seemed no matter where Steve was, hardship managed to sink its claws into him. "Did you ever find out who did it...?"

He hesitated for a moment before carefully wrapping his right arm around Steve's shoulders and pulling him in close.

Steve crumpled into his arms, burying his face in his shoulder. "An assassin whose codename is Crossbones," he mumbled into him. "But he's never been caught. He probably never will." He pulled away a few moments later, wiping his face. "I'm sorry," he said, frowning. "I'm not usually this emotional about it anymore."

He look a deep, calming breath. "Needless to say, I left the service at that point to look after James. But Tony pushed me to get involved in politics after that; he knew how much I wanted change...and he convinced me that was where the real influence was."

Bucky quietly held Steve, his hand absently running through his short, blonde hair as he listened, his jaw set as he heard that the man who had caused Steve this much pain had gone unpunished. Bucky had never been Peggy's number one fan, but he knew how much even his Steve had cared for her. And no one deserved that. His stomach churned. Not that he could talk. How many families had he broken apart while under the commands of Hydra? Still, Bucky's metal hand made a fist when he thought about someone - still out there - that had hurt Steve this badly. He wanted to do something. Wanted to fix it.

"Don't apologize." Bucky said hoarsely, "I wish I knew who the fucker was. But intel was never my job. If you couldn't track him down..." He shook his head resentfully.

"You don't have to get involved with my problems, Bucky," Steve said resolutely. "You're not... _that_ person anymore. You're not a vigilante." His expression had grown serious. "Please, we should keep the the focus on getting you home."

"That's exactly what I am." Bucky frowned. "I've been tracking down the remnants of Hydra. I may not have some organization like SHIELD or the CIA or whatever backing me, but I've had enough of people pulling my strings and pointing me at the wrong people." He sighed, relenting. "I just... if there was some good I could do here for you, Steve, I would in a heartbeat."

"I appreciate it, Bucky, I really do. But I don't want any more blood on your hands on my account." He leaned back in his seat. "Is Peggy still around, in your world?"

"Peggy... yeah... I had to check in on her. She's an old woman now. After everyone thought you died, she went on to form SHIELD, married, had kids..."

Steve couldn't help but frown, but he knew it was for the best. "I hope she had as good of a life as she deserved there," he said, picking at his nails and looking at his bare ring finger. He had worn her wedding ring for years, but Tony finally convinced him to remove it when he started his Presidential campaign; he said it would appeal to the woman demographic. And regardless, as much as it pained him to know it, he was ready to move on. He was lonely, and he missed having someone to share his life with; to raise James with.

"Have times changed as much there as they have here," he finally asked, looking back up Bucky. "As far as... gay relationships go?"

"I... I'm not completely sure. Even though I've been around the past few years, I've been trying to avoid most contact with civilians. I always told myself there would be plenty of time for re-integration after my mission was complete. But I read headlines, and couldn't help but notice that talk of marriage equality and gay rights sometimes made the news. It... gave me hope. But I didn't want to allow myself to stop and rest until I was done with what I was doing. I was scared if I did, I wouldn't be able to keep going."

Steve nodded, but his thoughts seemed to be elsewhere. "Are you going to try again?" he asked, his eyes coming up to meet his. "With your Steve?"

Bucky stopped mid-swallow, looking at Steve like a deer caught in the headlights. He couldn't pretend like he hadn't thought about it on nights when he was alone and sleep just wouldn't come. "I... I really want to. I just don't know if he..." _could even like me like this? If he even still feels the same way after the serum? _"... if he would be interested in that."

"I know its not fair of me to say for sure... I know we're not the same people. But still, I can't help but think..." Steve a motion between the two of them, "that there's some kind of connection. You're too much like him. My Bucky. Not exactly, not in the experiences or anything, but in the soul. I can _see it._"

He gave him a smile, and there was no denying the pure affection in his eyes. "If your Steve loves you as much as I loved mine, then he's just as lonely and missing you as much as I miss him."

"I hope you're right." Bucky murmured but couldn't pull his eyes away from Steve's. And they _were_ Steve's- the same blue that rivaled the sky with the impossible lashes. The same soul.

His mouth started to run before he could reign in the words, "And what would _you _do... if he... your Bucky were here right now...?"

Steve tried to swallow the lump in his throat. "Maybe..." the words were getting stuck, and he learned forward a bit, clearing his throat, "Talk about ... things. Admit I was stupid and young and confused once upon a time, but.. tell him how much he means to me. How much I loved him as a young man and that maybe I should have been more brave to say so."

Bucky smiled softly, "You were the bravest man I ever knew, Steve. Just... sometimes a little dense when it came to people."

"Maybe it's time I took a page from that book." He said, steeling himself as he reached up and gently wrapped his right hand around the back of Steve's head and coaxed him in towards his lips.

Steve exhaled, his breath catching. As Bucky's lips came closer, his eyes fluttered closed and he let his lips brush Bucky's. He had never actually kissed a man before; though he had spent many of his high school years questioning his sexuality, even settling on his identify as being most likely bisexual, he had never had the opportunity to explore. He was a late bloomer; fumbling around anyone he liked. He was hung up Bucky who had a severely homophobic father, and no knowledge that he was in the closet the whole time. Once he joined the army and DADT was a real concern, he just kind of put it away. Soon after he met Peggy and fell in love, so it never seemed to matter all that much.

Bucky would have almost put money on Steve pulling away, but he knew that he'd regret it if he didn't at least try when he saw this opening. But he didn't pull away. He leaned into it. Those blue eyes slid closed and Bucky found himself closing away the world as well and just _feeling_.

And Bucky's lips pressed against Steve's felt just so _perfect. _Not as soft or plump as those of a girl, but welcoming and warm and hungry for more. His hands came up to rest on Bucky's arms, holding him gently.

The pressure of Steve's lips were achingly familiar - that hesitance but neediness that brought back their first kiss in a wave of memory. Bucky held it for a moment before parting his lips and bringing his tongue up to whet them, brushing it against Steve's as he did. His fingers dug into his hair as he allowed his whole torso to roll with the motion, encouraging and goading Steve.

Steve melted into the kiss, his jaw relaxing to allow Bucky access to his mouth. He welcomed Bucky coming closer, his hands sliding down his arms and coming to rest on his hips as Bucky held his face lovingly. He hummed into his mouth, a pleasant, affectionate sound as his hands grasped him, as if he was afraid he would run away if he let go.

Bucky's mouth was hot as his tongue worked its way past Steve's lips and he swallowed his hums hungrily. The wide, luxurious limousine seats allowed more movement than most cars did, so Bucky rotated, arching his back and pulled in closer as he fully faced Steve. He gingerly brought his artificial arm up to wrap around Steve's waist as he kept his human hand against the back of his head, fingertips working into his scalp.

Steve held the kiss until he had to break for air, turning his lips away just enough to take a heavy breath, holding Bucky close. He wedged open his eyes, looking deep into Bucky's and letting a smile pull over his mouth. He bumped his nose with his own affectionately, before putting his lips on his again. He shifted in the seat of the limousine, pulling Bucky over him as he sank further down into the seat.

Discretion was quickly melting away as Bucky pressed back hungrily, intensifying the kiss as he swung one of his legs up over Steve's lap and straddled him. Bucky was deceptively heavy, but he kept some of his weight on his knees as he rolled his hips and pulled Steve closer, encircling him with his arms.

A moan slipped into Bucky's mouth as Steve straddled his lap, and his body was already responding to his touches. His body heat was rising, and his noises became more insistent and confident. His hands slid from his waist to around his back, coming up to tangle into Bucky's long hair. He ground himself up against him, loving the feel of his strong body against him; he nibbled gently on Bucky's bottom lip, completely enamored by his beautiful mouth. Everything was new and different than the kisses he had shared with his wife and girlfriends. Bucky was strong, with a different, musky intoxicating scent. The feel of his five o'clock shadow against his face excited him ways he didn't even know he could feel. If there was any hesitation about his sexuality, the uncertainly was whisked away in an instant; men and women may feel different but Steve knew that if he held him in his heart, then everything about them was sexy and exciting.

Bucky finally returned the moan, deep and throatily, as he felt Steve press needily against him. Steve could feel Bucky's desire - hard and hot as he pressed back encouragingly. He gave his hips a slow roll and then a quick drive, demonstrating a controlled athleticism and restrained strength. His red lips curled into a grin as Steve nibbled on them and he jerked his head against his grip on his hair, forcing Steve to give it a tug. How long had it been since he had truly lost himself in a wonderful moment of desire? How long since he trusted himself and his partner? A part of Bucky had wondered if he would ever be able to share a simple intimacy again with it being tainted from his time at Hydra. But all of those questions were answered when he was with Steve. It was always so simple with Steve despite how complicated it might be outside their doors.

In the heat of their make out session, however, the two men got so lost in their kisses, moans, and embrace that neither of them seemed to notice the limousine had reached its destination. Somewhere in the deep reaches of Steve's mind, he had assumed the car was rolling to a stop for normal traffic routine, but then the door was yanked open.

Before he fully realized what was happening, the head of Steven Roger's Secret Service had his gun out of his pointed directly at the man who was, for all intents and purposes, straddling and struggling with his charge. But as the two men jerked up at the commotion, the tussled hair and swollen lips gave it away fairly obviously.

Bucky immediately sprung into a defensive crouch, feet poised on the seat and his left arm snapped up, prepared to shield Steve in case of a threat.

"Sir?" he stuttered out, quickly lowering his weapon.

Steve's blood ran cold, full on his back now and looking at him upside down, the flush on his face turning even brighter red from arousal mixed now with a healthy dose of embarrassment. "Coulson!"

It took less than a moment for Bucky to realize that this was no threat; not a physical one at least. Cautiously, silently, but with his face flushed read, he withdrew back into a more conventional seated position like a gun whose safety had been flipped back on. He swallowed, lips still tingling from the kissing and biting, and his erection regrettably undeterred. Sharply, his eyes darted between Steve and the unfamiliar agent, fully realizing just how bad of a miscalculation he had just made. Even if times had changed, Steve was the _president_, and he just hoped that whoever this was understood discretion.

Steve sat up, catching his breath and quickly trying to readjust his clothing. "Agent Coulson, this is a friend of mine, Sebastian Barnes," he stuttered out, his voice shaky. "Uh, sorry, I didn't know we were back in DC so soon," he admitted, seeing the Rose Garden from outside the door. Thankfully, Coulson was crowding the door to the limousine so any other onlookers wouldn't have a good look inside.

And Coulson knew exactly what he was doing, leaning against the frame of the car as to block the view. "NIce to meet you, Mr. Barnes," he said, his expression hard to read behind his black sunglasses, but his voice was even and oddly soothing regardless.

"Uh, _Sebastian_, this is Agent Coulson. He's the head of my security detail. He's good at sneaking around."

"Very sneaky, sir," he replied, a bit of a smile in his voice. "Give me a few minutes to clear the area, then you're free to go inside."


End file.
